The Reichenbach Fall
by MyelleWhite
Summary: The sound of the falls echoed, making it only louder and more eerie to listen to. Yet it was soothing, like a lullaby. This lullaby, much to John's dismay would gently put Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty into an eternal sleep.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone! It's great to finally start a new story. With "Everlasting" behind me, I can now explore more canonical elements of the BBC Sherlock series. I heard there will be an episode called the Reichenbach Fall. This is how it will play out, according to me.**

**-Myelle**

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"Go, John. It's only fair to the woman." Sherlock said, reading over the letter John had received from a little Swiss boy.

"Since when do you care about fairness? I don't intend to leave you here. Not after the fire and the 'accidental' landslide."

John wouldn't leave Sherlock. It wasn't even that he wouldn't, but rather that he _couldn't. _When they were on the plane to Switzerland, under fake names and passports, courtesy of Mycroft, Sherlock had told John of the fires at Baker Street the night before. When they finally arrived over the Swiss border, they went for a walk only to be nearly crushed in a sudden rockslide. Had Sherlock not pushed John out of the way, he wouldn't be alive now.

Sherlock had told John many times that he was becoming too dangerous, that John would have to return to England. Each time, John refused and stood his ground. He wasn't about to let his best, but really his _only, _friend be killed while he sat comfortably in London.

"John, you need to go. There is no danger here for me. If there was, I wouldn't have come here in the first place. I'll meet you in Rosenlaui later tonight."

John hesitated, but nodded slowly. After all, Sherlock knew how to take care of himself. Although not completely willing to go, John was almost confident that Sherlock would still be alive when he got back.

"Please just call me if you need me."

"My mobile doesn't-"

"Yes it does, Sherlock. I made Mycroft change your mobile so it would work from anywhere. I'm pretty sure it works in some parts of space. I don't know exactly what he did to it but it will work."

"When did you talk to Mycroft?"

"Before we left. I wanted to make sure you'd be safe and if we ever got separated, it's good to have our phones working to call each other. Promise me you'll call me if you need help."

"I promise."

"Please be careful. I'll see you tonight."

"Same, uh," Sherlock gaped at John, as he had done at the swimming pool almost a year ago. John knew he was touched that he had gone to such lengths as visiting Mycroft to take care of him. Sherlock wasn't easy with letting emotions show, "be careful too. If you happen to see anyone suspicious, let me know. Goodbye, John."

John felt that there was too much feeling in his goodbye. Sherlock was looking directly into his eyes, as if he was trying to make some kind of point. He smiled solemnly at John before he turned and walked away.

Before John was completely out of sight, he turned to look back at Sherlock.

His friend looked so peaceful, staring out into the open chasm below them. The sound of the falls echoed, making it only louder and more eerie to listen to. Yet it was soothing, like a lullaby. This lullaby, much to John's dismay would gently put Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty into an eternal sleep.

John continued towards the hotel. The image of Sherlock was scared into his memory, and for good reason. It would be the last time John Watson set eyes upon Sherlock Holmes.

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**I'm very excited to be **_**finally**_** starting a new story after spending six months on the last one. This one will be shorter, MUCH shorter. Please review! They seriously make my day :)**

**-Myelle xx**


	2. Chapter 2

**WOW! Thanks for the wonderful reviews! Thanks also to everyone who alerted my story, added me to author alert, author favourite, or story favourite! You ALL make my day!**

**-Myelle**

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John continued to the _Englischer Hof, _the hotel they were staying at.

"I trust she's no worse?" he asked upon entering the small lobby. The hotel manager stared at him blankly.

"Who?"

"The sick Englishwoman. Didn't you write this?"

John showed him the note that a little boy had given him at Reichenbach Falls. The man looked it over, commenting on the hotel's stationary.

"It's from her, but I didn't write it. There's no sick Englishwoman. The only other English person who was in here, aside from you or Mr. Holmes, was a tall man who dropped in. He asked for the paper, wrote something down, and then left. He had nice suit on, a bit taller than you, dark hair-"

John wasted no time. He ran as fast as he could out of the Hotel and back to the falls. It took two hours walking from the falls back down to the hotel. Even if John ran to shave another hour off his time, that was at least three hours alone with Moriarty. Three hours that Sherlock could have been lying alone, injured...or, if Moriarty had his way: dead.

Sherlock could be dead.

At this realization, John ran faster despite the pounding ache in his leg. No matter how fast he went, he didn't get to the falls soon enough. The wind seemingly pushed him backwards, slowing him. The trees and mountains moved in his way so he wouldn't get to his friend. Nature was against him, as if it too was tricked by Moriarty.

Tears threatened to fall, but John's pride wouldn't allow it. Besides, there was still a possibility that Sherlock was alive and if he cried, all hope would be lost. Tears would only blind him and he needed every bit of his senses he could keep to get him to Sherlock faster. There is no positive aspect of crying.

He should have never left. He should have stayed, and Sherlock wouldn't have been in danger. The fear John now faced of losing his best, but really his _only, _friend, was indescribable. It was unimaginable to anyone but him. No one else had ever had to run through mountains, squeezing each last drop of strength out of his physical limits.

When John finally arrived, he desperately began looking for Sherlock, but stayed away from the dreadful chasm which lay below him. One slip of the foot and you would be sucked under into the abyss. He shivered at the thought of his friend falling into it.

Upon a rock at the edge of the falls, he found Sherlock's suit jacket and mobile. He peered over the ledge but saw nothing. Only water...and rocks. Sharp rocks. Rocks that could kill you if you struck one.

"Sherlock!" He cried over the edge. His voice, it seemed, was swallowed by the cries of the waterfall...just like his friend.

There were two sets of footprints going to the edge of the cliff, but none coming back. Both men had evidently fallen off the ledge together. John made the conclusion that Moriarty and Sherlock had met, talked, and then fought, ending in the inevitable: their simultaneous deaths.

John tried to look away from the deathly liquid under the cliff but it drew his gaze towards it. He looked for some sign of Sherlock, but not even so much as a shoe could be seen.

The smell of the trees, the feel of the cold, wet mist that danced around his body, the sight of the emptiness in the chasm, and the sound of the waterfall hitting the rocks...it would be engraved in his memory ever and always.

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**NEXT CHAPTER: John's emotions get the best of him as he finds a message form Sherlock. **

**Please review! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey everyone, thank you for the reviews! I LOVE them! Please review this chapter, as it will probably be the second last chapter. **

**-Myelle **

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With no one around, John sat down on the rock, laid his head in his hands, and wept. He poured his heart into everything he and Sherlock had done together. Every case, every gunshot, every argument, it was all he cared about for so long and now it all was at the bottom of a waterfall, being tossed about and devoured by rapids.

John's heart, in a way, lay where Sherlock was. Sherlock had changed his life. His limp, his loneliness...all gone in the matter of days, hours even. Sherlock came through at every angle with ways to cure John of unhappiness. It didn't do justice to them to only call them friends. They were much more than that. The men were brothers.

Sherlock's entry into John's life was dramatic and it changed him forever. His exit, therefore, was only right if it was of a comparable nature.

He held Sherlock's suit jacket close to his chest, gripping what was left of his friend. His phone was clutched tightly in his trembling hands. John tried to tell himself that this was not the behaviour of a soldier. Soldiers were not weak, as he was now. He couldn't listen to himself, couldn't be strong. He was alone here and when he went back to Baker Street, he would be just as lonely.

John imagined Sherlock and Moriarty gripping each other, trying not to fall over the ledge. One must have lost balance and took the other man down with him. He imagined Sherlock falling, striking rocks and ledges on his way down, and then finally being thrown into the water with great force and dragged under by the currents. He saw the expression on his friend's face as the water filled his lungs, liquid fire, burning him from the inside out.

John closed his eyes, trying harder than ever to get the images out of his head.

There was a buzzing in his hand- Sherlock's phone. John glanced at the screen and saw that there was a reminder on the screen. He pressed a button on the phone to see what the reminder was for.

With a heavy heart, John pressed the voice message that was left, assumingly for him.

"Dear John," he heard Sherlock's deep voice say, almost in a whisper. "I have time to record this message at the courtesy of _Jim_. I have reached the peak of my career and there will be no work for me left in London if I kill him here today. I have every intention of killing him here today, though it may come at a cost which will upset you. I have to die, John. I'm sorry to leave you on your own, but I have arranged for Mycroft to pay your rent fees and the bills. It was my dying wish, I suppose. I don't know what else to say."

There was a pause on the recording and john heard something mumbling in the background, probably Moriarty.

"I have to go, but it's been an honour, John. Thank you."

The message ended and although it was longer than a simple goodbye, it still ended too soon. This message was the last thing Sherlock Holmes ever said to John Watson- an apology.

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**Next chapter is the last one. Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**LAST CHAPTER! Sorry for taking so long..I worked overnights over the weekend and didn't have time between sleep and work to write up a chapter...or maybe I was just feeling lazy. **

**THANKS to everyone who has read and reviewed...and favourited...and subscribed...YOU ALL MAKE ME SMILE!**

**-Myelle**

**Also...ive decided to include an epilogue at the end of the chapter...it was going to end there but I got a very detailed private message about how nice it would be to include their reunion. **

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If John had stayed, Sherlock would be alive. The message proved that. Sherlock knew he was going to die and if john had just refused to go with the boy, then his best friend would be here beside him, on their way to Rosenlaui.

His words would stain John's memory forever. "I have every intention of killing him here today, though it may come at a cost which will upset you. I have to die, John." The way he said his name seemed to take John's heart and wring it out dry, taking every last bit of hope and squeezing it out of him, pouring into the water below.

Images of Sherlock standing, staring at the falls ran through his mind. They were much happier than the hallucinations of his friend being tossed and turned in the waterfall. Sherlock had looked so peaceful, so calm for a man who stood at the grounds of his death.

John held onto this image for it was perhaps his favourite of the sporadic man. Sherlock was always so jumpy and excited, always on the run. To see him standing still and serene was a sight that John wanted to remember him by.

With a heavy heart, John Watson took his memories with him and left Reichenbach Falls. He only looked back to stare down at the water, knowing that, even though covered by water, he was staring down at Sherlock Holmes, ever and always the best and wisest man he had ever known.

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EPILOGUE

*Three years later*

John Watson sat in his Baker Street flat, flipping through the newspapers for something interesting. He had since quit his job at the practice for a better one at St. Bartholomew's hospital, Sherlock's favourite place to be between cases.

He heard the front door open, then soft footsteps on the stairs. He recognized them but not as Mrs. Hudson's. She was the only other person in the house. Perhaps Mycroft had come to see him. He did that often, nowadays, always promising things would get better. They never got better.

The door opened and John didn't bother turning his head to greet the man he sometimes hated. He heard heavy breathing contrasting with light footsteps and he knows this man couldn't possibly be Mycroft. John's heart pounded. He recognized the contrast. He knew who this was, but didn't dare turn his head to face his disappointment when he was wrong.

And he knew he'd be wrong. Still, his mind argued with him. It couldn't be Sherlock. Sherlock had been dead three years last month. The anniversary of his only friend's death had been hard on him. He had probably cried more that night than he had on the actual day Sherlock died.

His heart pounded rapidly, skipping beats periodically and seeming to add them back in whenever it so pleased. He felt like his feet weren't touching the ground. The breathing behind him became closer, the footsteps disappearing under John's concentration on the breath. The sign of life; a sign that the man behind him was truly alive.

John told himself not to turn his head. Whatever he did, he would not turn. If it didn't turn out to be Sherlock after he had gotten his hopes up, he would be crushed. He knew that his hopes were bound together with impossibility but he couldn't shake the idea from his mind. To keep himself from being hurt, he closed his eyes.

The breathing moved around him. He felt as fi the breathing was only here to make him relive his unhappy days after Reichenbach. The sounds of the breath turned out to be the sounds of death. It was too similar to the roar of the waterfall, or perhaps that was simply imagination. The thing with losing someone you care about is that reality becomes almost dormant and impossibilities seem to take its place.

"John."

One word was all it took to unhinge John's mind. The voice he remembered as his favourite spoke to him one simple word which made his whole being shudder.

"Sherlock." He whispered, finally opening his eyes.

Sherlock had the biggest smile on his face that John had ever seen. John mirrored Sherlock's features with a bright smile of his own. Both men felt tears rising. Both men let them fall.

John stood up and held onto Sherlock as if they were brothers seeing each other after a long separation. In a way, that's what they were. Only, both knew that there probably wasn't a pair of brothers who had been what they'd suffered together, yet apart. Both had gone so long without their best friend and they had to endure the pain alone.

"I'm so sorry." Sherlock said quietly, soothingly.

"Don't...ever..." John couldn't find words, yet Sherlock's knew exactly what he was saying.

"Never again, John. I promise."

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson sat _together_ in their Baker Street flat once more, as they were always meant to do. Sherlock told John of the wondrous adventures during his absence and without actually saying it, made sure John knew none of the adventures were quite right without him. That night, at Sherlock's suggestion, John sat down at his computer, reopening his blog for the first time in three years.

The title of his entry:

_The Reichenbach Fall. _

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**Thus concluding "The Reichenbach Fall."**

** Thank you to all who have read and reviewed! As usual, if anyone has anything they'd like to see me write, let me know! I'd be more than happy to write for you.**

**Sincerely yours,**

**Myelle xx**


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